by Raḍwá ʻĀshūr
Naeem had no choice but to go to his room and lie alone on his bed, to wait for sleep to overtake him and, like every night, nightmares to ravage him.
19
The two brothers, Omar and Abdel-Kareem, arrived from Valencia to work out the details and come to an agreement concerning the management of the inn. Hasan hosted them at home, and he honored their visit not only because they were strangers who came from out of town, but because he had taken a genuine liking to them. He liked their confident manner and their intelligent conversation, and there was something else about them that he couldn't put his finger on that particularly drew him to them. It was something that he didn't see in the Arabs of Granada. He wondered if it was wealth that gives its possessor an air of self-assuredness, or perhaps power and influence that gives an individual that certain thing he saw and liked in them.
The brothers were close to Hasan in age. Omar, the younger of the two, was the more effusive. He spoke forcefully, coherently, and clearly, which amazed Hasan since speaking about political matters and delving into details required a great deal of caution. But he spoke courageously as though these troubled times were surmountable, or that these troubled times weren't troubled at all. He had a round, full face distinguished by two big, wide eyes that made direct contact with whomever he spoke. He had an impeccably groomed moustache and beard. He was tall and stocky, although not corpulent in the least, and his elegant robe added to his dignified look. Although his brother looked a lot like him, he gave a totally different impression. His quiet demeanor and his measured speech and short sentences complemented his outward appearance, reflecting in the look in his eyes and his facial features confidence, importance, and aloofness. Yet, at the same time, he was cultivated and warm.
The brothers listened attentively to Hasan as he described to them the conditions in Granada. In turn, Omar spoke about Valencia. "The conditions in Valencia are much better. The nobility are with us, and the court could be with us if we behave prudently. The Aragonese nobility are the ones who are resisting the injustices perpetrated against us. King Ferdinand had promised them repeatedly that there would be no forced conversions or expulsions for the Arabs, nor any restrictions on our interactions with the Christians of the kingdom. When Emperor Charles V assumed the throne of Aragon upon the death of his grandfather, Ferdinand, he was forced to renew this promise. The struggle exists between the nobility on the one hand and the Office of Inquisition on the other. The court is leaning toward the nobility, but it fears the powerful influence of the Office of Inquisition."
Hasan had some difficulty comprehending the idea of a dispute between the nobility and the Church. "I don't understand how the nobility can defend the interests of the Arabs when they financed wars against them and offered themselves and their men to Ferdinand and Isabella to invade Granada."
"They're not defending the Arabs, Abu Hisham, but their own interests and the interests of the kingdom of Aragon. The Arabs are a financial power the kingdom needs. More important than that is the fact that most of our people in Aragon work as farmers on the feudal estates of the nobility, and they impose on all of us, rich and poor alike, heavy taxes that exceed those imposed on the rest of the kingdom. If the Arabs were to emigrate, the estates would fall into disarray, and their conversion would mean a decrease in the tax revenues they reap from us."
"We have an expression in Valencia that goes, "The more the Arabs, the more the profit,' "added Abdel-Kareem.
"But they don't want us to remain Arabs or Muslims!" argued Hasan.
"That's correct," answered Abdel-Kareem, "but self-interest governs everything."
"But as Omar pointed out yesterday, there are the Brotherhood of the Germania whose gangs hoist the cross and chant 'Death to the Arabs,' and wherever their banners pass, you find a trail of corpses, burnt homes, and people so terrorized that they seek baptism as a way to save their lives."
"These are hooligans whose activities will be crushed."
"Even these hooligans," interjected Omar, "and I agree with my brother that their activities will not last much longer, are not targeting us specifically, but rather the nobility. They're striking out at the Arabs to wound the nobility who protect them and depend upon them to cultivate their estates. But that's not the point. What's important is that we win over the court and convince the officials, as well as the emperor, that protecting the Arabs and keeping them here are in the best interests of the state."
"Is that possible?" asked Hasan, as it seemed to him to be wishful thinking.
"It's very possible, but the one problem is those who call themselves freedom fighters."
"Freedom fighters?"
"They're ruining everything," said Abdel-Kareem.
"How so?"
"With their extremist behavior that only complicates matters."
Omar elaborated on what his brother just said. "The attacks on the Spanish coasts and the smuggling of emigrants on the one hand, and collaboration with France with the aim of weakening the emperor's power on the other, reinforce the attitude that the Arabs of the country have no allegiance to the kingdom, and therefore the only solution is forced conversion or expulsion. This makes our task more difficult."
This was the oddest thing Hasan had ever heard. The people of Granada were afraid to publicize their sympathies with the freedom fighters or their clandestine cooperation with them. It's true they feigned their support and allegiance to the kingdom, but he never heard that what the freedom fighters were doing harmed the interests of the Arabs. The brothers' position confused Hasan, and when he retired in solitude to his room that night he thought about it long and hard. After a night of tossing and turning and mulling the matter over and over again, he came to the conclusion that they were correct, especially since they were influential and in a position to be in contact with the nobility and the court officials, or at least with those who were in contact with them.
The day before the brothers were to depart, Omar spoke to Hasan. "Listen, Abu Hisham, we came to you from Valencia to reach an agreement on managing the inn, but apparently the Knower of All Secrets has foreordained something further. We have met you and come to know you well. We have seen your family and told ourselves that there is no finer man with whom we would like to bond through marriage. What do you think?"
Hasan was stunned and speechless. Omar continued, "Your daughters, Abu Hisham, are a credit to our Maker. I have a son, and Abdel-Kareem has two sons. What do you say to that?"
"I would say, with God's blessing."
Hands went outstretched and they recited the opening chapter of the Quran. After the initial moment of shock, Hasan began to feel immense satisfaction and joy. Where would he find such noble stock, he thought, with breeding, wealth, knowledge, and influence. He rushed off with the happy news to Maryama but was taken aback by her reaction. She was not pleased, and she screamed in angry protest. "What's gotten into you, man, that you banish your daughters to some faraway place?"
"Lower your voice! The two guests are still in our house, and it's not right that they hear this!"
"How can I give my daughters over to a family I know nothing about?"
"It's a good family, of good stock with wealth and influence. What more could you want?"
"I want to rest assured of my daughters' safety and security. I want them to visit me from time to time. I want to be able to go to them if need be. How could you, man? Shame on you."
"Calm down, Maryama, and listen to me. This marriage will protect your daughters from the evil of poverty. Besides, the people of Valencia are not subjected to forced conversion. Your daughters will never be forced to give their children names other than their own, and they won't have to live their lives practicing one religion in public and another in secret."
Maryama responded with a scoffing smirk on her face. "Why don't you marry them off to men from North Africa or Egypt or Arabia?"
"If an honest and decent man from North Africa came and asked for one of my daughters, I would g
ive her to him."
"I'll die of grief if my daughters are far from me."
"Valencia is not that far away. Both countries are ruled by one emperor. Besides, the law that prohibits the Arabs of Granada to travel to other provinces within the kingdom may be changed within a year or two."
"It's bad enough you give one away, but why did you give them three?"
"I recited the opening chapter of the Quran, and the matter is settled." Hasan turned his back to Maryama, closed his eyes and went to sleep. This only increased Maryama's anger, so she got up and left the room to go and complain to Saleema.
"Saleema . . ."
"What's wrong, Maryama?"
"Your brother has lost his mind. I swear to God, he lost his mind. He's deranged."
"Calm down and tell me what happened."
"Those two men who descended upon us like a death sentence."
"You mean, the guests?"
"Exactly. I wish they had never come to this house and I had never laid my eyes on them."
"Did they insult Hasan?"
"They asked for three of my daughters to marry their sons."
"And go to Valencia?"
"Yes, they're going to Valencia!"
"Why did Hasan give his consent? He may have found the two men to be good people, but who knows if their sons are as good as they?"
"Exactly, who knows? I'm going to Hasan right now and telling him that." Maryama rushed into the bedroom. Hasan was plunged into a deep sleep, and she woke him up.
"How do you know that the sons are as good as their fathers? They could be evil, drunkards, deformed, or ill-tempered. How could you give three of my daughters to strangers I know nothing about and who'll take them away to a faraway place where they'll be miserable?"
Hasan rubbed his eyes as he listened to Maryama. He was still half asleep and couldn't grasp everything she was saying. When she repeated her argument a third time, he finally understood, and said to her sternly, "Calm down, woman, and let me get some sleep!"
When the news was revealed to the three daughters, they were elated in spite of their mother's anger and distress. They were going to get married and travel to Valencia where there was going to be a wedding, just like those grand occasions Umm Jaafar never tired of telling them about. There was going to be the trip to the bathhouse, the henna celebration, the ululations, singing, and the banging of the tambourines. It all seemed so exciting, like dreams that come true before you even dream them. The girls' happiness only increased Maryama's sadness, which was mixed with scorn and self-pity. She was crying when Ruqaya, her oldest, came to console her. "Why are you crying, Mother? We'll be together, the three of us. We'll take care of one another and keep each other company all under one roof. That's better than if each one of us married husbands unknown to one another, each one living in a separate place and seeing each other only on holidays and special occasions." Maryama looked at her with tear-soaked eyes but didn't say a word, but when the thought sunk into her head, she calmed down.
A month later Abdel-Kareem and Omar returned in the company of their mother, their wives, and the three young men. That night when Hasan was alone with Maryama, he asked her, "Has your mind been put to rest now, Umm Hisham?"
He was alluding to the good impression the young men gave to everyone in the family, with their good looks, refined manners, speaking only when spoken to, and doing it intelligently and courteously. Hasan had no idea that his three daughters had fallen in love with the young men as soon as they laid eyes on them. They were attracted by their svelte physiques, their finely chiseled, olive complexions, their black eyes, and the attention and care they gave to their appearances. But what he did know was that his mother, his sister, and even Maryama found no fault whatsoever in them. In fact, Maryama even began to retract from her bitter opposition, although her fears were not appeased.
The women of the Tahir family came bearing gifts and greetings of affections and pampering for their future daughters-in-law. It was so profuse that Maryama heard one of her youngest daughters say to the other, both of whom were under ten, "I wish the brothers had two younger ones to ask us to marry them." Maryama grabbed the broom by the handle and spanked the two little girls, the one who spoke and the other who listened. Just as they were about to let out a loud cry, she lifted the broomstick and whispered to them in a soft but threatening voice to be quiet. "Not a sound! There are guests in the house!"
Quietly and secretly, the family celebrated the engagements and the signing of the marriage contracts. Their closest and trusted friends and neighbors were invited to the wedding feast with abundant food and low-keyed singing that stayed within the neighborhood walls.
Umm Abdel-Kareem, the grooms' grandmother, was at a loss to understand this strange way of celebrating a wedding. The women did not go to the bathhouse accompanied by the beating of tambourines or festive music. Nor did they cry out, "Allah is great!" when the sheep were slaughtered, or adorn the door of the house with the imprints of their palms soaked in sheep's blood. Apart from Maryama's distress and Umm Abdel-Kareem's annoyance, the house of Hasan glowed with happiness, affection, and the excitement of children until it was time to think about making preparations for the journey to Valencia.
Two days before departure, Umm Abdel-Kareem fell ill. She woke up that morning with a pallid look on her face and wilting eyes, along with shivers and a fever. The poor thing would return to her bed after spilling her guts from vomiting and diarrhea, only to have to make the trip once again.
Umm Hasan whispered to Maryama, "I hope the woman doesn't die in our house and then have them say that Hasan s daughters brought us bad luck. That's all we need. Ever since I first laid eyes on that woman and her sour puss, my heart sank. She's a jinx!"
Saleema gave Umm Abdel-Kareem a thorough examination. She checked her chest, her stomach, eyes, throat, pulse, and the color of her fingernails. She determined that it wasn't serious. The old woman grew more pale, as though she had just put one foot into the grave. The blood in her arteries coagulated in fear whenever Saleema touched a part of her body. The truth is that when she first saw Saleema she made mental note of her strange appearance, her disheveled hair, and her distracted look. Her suspicions were confirmed only two days later when she passed by her room while the door was open and caught a glimpse of the bottles, jars, baskets, and books and got a whiff of the strange odors. She moved away as quickly as possible and muttered some Quranic verses under her breath to protect her from the evil spirits.
She thought of the expression that says, "Like aunt like niece," as she reminded herself that her family was being afflicted with not one, but three of them. That's all she could think about. Did Valencia lack young girls? Surely there were thousands of girls there, more beautiful, and more noble of birth and prestige than these.
There was no choice, so Umm Abdel-Kareem submitted herself to the will of God and awaited His decree. Even her resistance to any medications Saleema gave her could no longer continue since her sons and their wives stood around her and scolded her for her behavior. "Do you think it's right at this age to act like a child?" She put herself in God's hands and took the medicine. At first Saleema gave her some boiled pomegranate rinds mixed with ben-seeds. The old woman knew this remedy, and when she took it she stopped vomiting and the diarrhea stopped. But her suspicions didn't abate. When Saleema came in with a new mixture, she asked, "What's this?"
"Medicine."
"I know it's medicine, but I'm asking what's it made of?"
Saleema paid no mind to her suspicions and thought the question was asked merely out of interest. She sat down next to her and started to explain.
"This is a mixture that cures stomachaches. It's extremely effective, and I concocted it myself. I took a small amount of pure iron dust and soaked it in clean vinegar. I strained the liquid several times. I pulverized it and took a little bit and mixed it with some ground clove and a paste of ginger and honey. Then I brewed it with musk and amber, and God willing, you'l
l be cured."
The only thing that Umm Abdel-Kareem's mind could comprehend was the pure iron dust that stuck in her head. She refused to take it in spite of the insistence of Saleema, Maryama, and even her daughters-in-law. Finally, Abdel-Kareem came in and forced her to take the medicine. She drank it as though she were drinking a cup of poison.
Although she arose from her bed five days later in robust health, and despite the fact that everything turned back to normal just as it was the day they arrived, Umm Abdel-Kareem was convinced that she was cured only because God gave her victory over that woman possessed by demons. He had listened to her prayers day in and day out beseeching Him not to leave her alone in this time of affliction. With Umm Abdel-Kareem's convalescence over, the Tahir family was able to take the girls and travel to Valencia, along with the prayers and best wishes of the family, and the tears of Maryama.
20
They wondered how Saad would feel if word got to him that Saleema carried the seeds of his loins and bore him a daughter whom they named Aysha. Would he jump for joy at the news, or would it only increase the misery of his imprisonment and reinforce the walls of confinement around him? When he had told the family that he intended to return by summer's end or at the beginning of autumn at the latest, it had seemed both possible and probable to him. But time does not disclose its secrets to humankind, and the possible turned impossible.
Saad was assigned to receive a shipment of gunpowder from a deserted spot by the coast. He received it under the protection of night, loaded it onto his mule, and took it through whatever deserted roads he could find, passing through whatever villages he had to. Whenever he came into a village, he claimed he was carrying a shipment of wheat to the inhabitants of his village, and that he was merely a cart driver whose task was to deliver goods. Then he entered the ill-fated village where he encountered what he was doomed to encounter. Some of the villagers told him, "We will buy some wheat." He answered, "It's not mine to sell. I don't own the shipment. I'm only transporting it from the vendors to the buyers who already paid for it." Saad felt uneasy about the suspicious look some of them gave him, and he proceeded to leave the village as quickly as possible. His anxiety increased when he realized that provisions in the village were meager, and that they were in dire need of flour. He had to repeat over and over again to the many who asked him to buy wheat that the shipment didn't belong to him and refused their request. He was exerting all his effort to spur on the mule to move faster when he was accosted by a number of men who knocked him to the ground with the intention of taking what they thought was wheat. Saad stood up in protest and tried to keep them away, but their hands had already ripped open the sacks. When he heard someone shout, "It's not wheat, it's gunpowder," Saad dashed off like the wind.